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THE GREAT AND FEARSOME SEBASTIAN VULCE

SEBASTIAN

“ A live?” I ask. It’s not the first time I’ve asked Cora for an update, and it’s far from the last.

“Yes,” she says without looking at me. Her eyes are closed, but I’m pretty sure she’s not casting.

“Don’t placate me,” I snap. “Check. Make sure?—”

“I am not going to check,” Cora interrupts.

She opens her eyes, her stare unwavering.

“I don’t wish to defy you, Master, but I can’t waste energy on checking.

She’s alive. For whatever reason, they’re keeping her alive.

She’s in her cell, and according to Nicasi, the council hasn’t left their meeting room. ”

I force myself to remain still, to not lash out like I’m desperate to. Not only because she’s right, but because I knew better than to ask to start with.

“They were clearly going to kill her,” Beatrice says from my opposite side. “What could have changed their mind? Did they realize they were missing an ingredient? Or that they wouldn’t be strong enough to complete it? Or…”

I tune Beatrice out. We’ve been sitting in this forest since leaving Grace last night. It was our best option in the moment, but I’m not sure I’ll ever forgive myself for making the call. I’d had us retreat, and I sent Theo to get backup.

He’d found it from random sources. Nicasi and a few of his brothers from the Flight Realm. A couple of Beatrice’s acquaintances from the Float Realm. All of our servants who were desperate to be turned. If they survived this mission, they’d finally get their wish.

We’re spread throughout the coven’s settlement.

The harpies took to the sky hours ago, and they watched over Grace whenever she was out of our sight.

Just as we were readying to storm the ritual and make the most reckless rescue attempt imaginable, they’d taken her back to the prison.

The ritual crowd had dispersed. The council had gone into a meeting and have yet to reappear.

“She must have convinced them,” Beatrice says. “Maybe offered herself as some sort of sex slave. She’s pretty. They’d probably agree?—”

“Stop,” I say.

“Yes, please do,” Cora agrees. “The last thing we need is for Sebastian to think they’re torturing Grace and go ballistic. Right now, the best thing we can do is stay calm and wait.”

So we do.

We sit in the treeline, clinging to the shadows as well as we can. Aside from an occasional update from Nicasi, we wait for nightfall in silence. The sun dips behind the horizon, turning the sky brilliant with hues of orange and purple and red. I count to one million and beg nature to move faster.

The sun lingers, but I rise to my feet anyway. The others follow suit, and I order the humans back to the manor. Their presence seemed helpful when it was our only option, but now, they’re nothing more than obstacles. My followers will arrive soon enough to replace them.

“The leader is returning,” Cora says. She frowns at me as she climbs to her feet. “Just got word from Nicasi.”

I’m still unclear how their mental communication works, but I couldn’t care less right now. All that matters is he’s our eyes where we don’t have them, and Cora is his mouthpiece.

“Dammit,” I mutter. “It’s fine—it was bound to happen. Just hang back here, and let me go in first. It will be more believable if I’m alone.”

“Nothing about this plan is believable,” Beatrice hisses. “We should just slaughter her too.”

“Not unless we have to,” I say.

I expect Beatrice to argue, but thankfully, she doesn’t. Killing the witch leader is too dangerous for a number of reasons. Not only is she likely armed with a horrific protective curse, but killing her would wage war between the Night and Day realms. It’s the last thing we need.

“Everyone know their place?” I ask.

I’ve already started walking before they can respond, but their footsteps behind me are the only answer I need.

By the time night rises and my vampiric army arrives, twelve witches stand guard outside the prison.

They’re eerily still and violently bright in their ridiculous, flamboyant clothing.

They glow through the darkness, but there was no point in trying to hide.

Their rancid blood makes it easy to locate each of them.

Just beyond the hill, dozens more stand in wait.

They haven’t broached the forest, which tells me they already know we’re here .

I linger at the treeline, waiting for a final signal from Beatrice.

And there, three sharp sticks cracking in the distance, echoed by a short bird call.

“Windward!” one of the witches screams. He’s nearest me, and his voice lights the area like a siren.

It’s better than I could have hoped. Twelve witches twist in Beatrice’s direction, all aiming their palms toward the darkness. Theo and a pair of men are arrows in front of me. They slice through the pasture, picking off three witches in a matter of seconds.

The witches twist, blasting magic and sputtered curses. Their magic is invisible, but the force is tangible. It hangs in the air as I break from the trees, eyes locked on the prison door.

There are too many vampires and witches to count now. My men burst from the forest, and endless witches pour over the hilltop, hands raised. I’m surrounded by falling witch heads and obliterated vampire hearts, by the sound of frantic screams and desperate moans.

Through it all, I strain my ears for the prison. Three voices come from within its walls. Two men. One woman. Grace is silent, and I can only hope it means she’s been left alone.

Just as I reach the door, a wave of magic blasts against my back.

It immediately coils around me, squeezing my chest until my ribs ache.

I don’t let myself fight it. I force myself to wait, and within seconds, the magic disappears.

A man’s head rolls past me in the dirt, and Beatrice drops his body at my feet. She’s gone before I say a word.

I return to the door, expecting it to be locked, but it swings easily at my touch. Madam Lyrie stands before me, one man a shadow at her side. The other isn’t visible .

With Grace, then.

“Madam,” I say. I stroll into the room, kicking the door shut behind me. “You’ve aged terribly.”

The last time I saw this woman in person, we shared a stage together.

It was meant to be a peace treaty of sorts.

They wanted vampires to stop hunting humans and supernaturals, and in return, they’d help fund bloodletters for us.

I made a show of agreeing, only to turn on them as their people watched.

I grabbed Lyrie by the throat and showed the council exactly what I thought of their treaty.

I drank from her until their previous leader knocked me unconscious.

It was meant to be a show of power, a reminder to Walter Pruce and his council that we could not be leashed. It had worked. Until, of course, Madam Lyrie rebelled, cursing my entire species.

Twenty years later, Madam Lyrie’s brown hair has turned gray. Her skin is soft, wrinkled. Years of frowning have left deep brackets around her mouth. She’s wearing her usual colors: orange and yellows and other autumnal hues.

“You haven’t aged a day,” Lyrie says. She keeps her hands at her side, but the tension is clear in her neck. “You’re as hideous now as you were then.”

Even all these years later, I can still see the faint puncture marks I left on her neck. She could have used magic to remove the scars. It’s intentional that she’s left them, a reminder to her people, I’m sure, how monstrous my kind is.

“I want to see her,” I say. “I know the whole place is warded. I know she’ll die if I try to steal her.”

“And yet, you’ve risked your life to see her?” Lyrie tilts her head. “Either you’re as impulsive and foolish as ever, or you’re lying. ”

“Am I wrong?” I ask. “Is it not warded?”

“I assure you, it is,” Lyrie says. “But seeing as your men have just slaughtered mine to give you this opportunity, I’m not particularly compelled to indulge you.”

“Everything you believe about me—that I’m a horrible monster, a selfish creature—is true,” I say.

“I stole that woman from the other side, hoping to undo your curse over my people. But I am standing before you, begging you not to punish her for my sins. I will get on my knees if I must. We can make a new agreement. Please, at least hear me.”

She quirks an eyebrow, as much of an invitation as she’ll give me.

“Keep her alive,” I say. “Figure out a way to separate her from the curse. Certainly the Mother has punished you for killing Walter Pruce. You cannot tell me she wants you to kill another of her children.”

“Do not use my faith against me,” Lyrie sneers. “It will not end in your favor.”

“Find a way to separate her from the curse,” I repeat. “I won’t try to break it. I won’t try to steal her from these walls. Just…find another way. She is too good to die.”

“Look at you,” Lyrie says. She tsks her tongue like she’s disappointed. “The great and fearsome Sebastian Vulce, enamored by a half-breed. A witch half-breed, no less. You must be disgusted with yourself.”

I glance toward Grace’s cell. I can hear her heart beating too fast, the way she keeps holding her breath. I want to call out to her, but I force myself to look back at Lyrie.

“As touching as your proposition is,” she says. “I learned my lesson long ago to never trust a bloodsucker. Now, I suggest you leave before I add to the curse. Perhaps I should make vampires flammable in moonlight, as well?”

She says it as a threat, but I can tell, it’s already in motion. That’s what they were planning with their ritual. They were going to use Grace, not just to seal the curse, but to worsen it.

As much as I’d love to kill them for it, I don’t let myself react. This only works if I keep my composure.

“Lyrie—”

“Go,” she says, voice booming.